


Metronome

by Taciturn



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Freeform, soft angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 14:17:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11807673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taciturn/pseuds/Taciturn
Summary: Four beats to a measure makes for one hundredth of a page. A hundred pages later, and he finds himself back at the beginning of his feelings for you.





	Metronome

Four beats to a measure makes for one hundredth of a page. A hundred pages later, and he finds himself back at the beginning of his feelings for you.

The music he sent you was written with stardust and tasted of ashen lies. Each told a story of a blissful life without sorrow. Each song he sent you to listen made the tempo of your heart go faster until it became an unbearable and constant beating in your ears. He didn’t have time for words, so he kept in you in mind with songs.

One. To gently wake you up for when he left for work before the sun rose. Three. For you to listen to as you got ready for the day. Five. For the commute to your workplace. Each song to be played again in backwards order as you returned home after a long work day. By the time your door is unlocked and you made your way back into his arms, the dulcet melodies he chose for you would have been long forgotten for the slow dance tune that was he heartbeat.

Each song he chose was perfectly timed to your routine and his life. Though it was difficult to see him gone so often, you could always find solace in relistening to Thursday or Monday on repeat until he came home. Oftentimes, he would find you asleep on the living room couch listening to the second to last song for a Wednesday when he came home too late to tell you good night.

One hundred days meant twenty-eight days you saw him. One hundred days into loving Ignis Scientia meant seventy-two days of music that reminded you of how much he thought of you. Six hundred and forty-eight unique ways to say “I love you” in melodies that never lasted more than five minutes and twenty seconds.

Four beats to a measure to the sound of a heart. Thumping in the back of his skull is the dull headache of missing someone dear. Four beats to a measure and the pace hastens to match the sound of your excited heartbeat.

Weekends were the only time he didn’t play music for you. Instead, those days were always filled with wordless songs as your head laid in his lap while he read papers and you played the melodica. Saturday and Sunday were the lazy days you loved the most as you hoarded the image of him when the sunlight beaming through the windows caught on the dust at the corners of his glasses.

It’s less than half an hour until supper and he hasn’t bothered to move from his seat. “It’s too comfortable this way.” He says, combing through your hair and tracing imaginary constellations on your face.

One thousand three hundred and fourteen seconds pass before you stop playing the melodica in favor of listening to him tell a story over a mug of Ebony and supper made for two half an hour behing schedule. Of the twenty-two years he had lived, he only allowed a fraction of the time to be spent relaxed. The fact that you were able to share those precious moments with him made your heart sing as loud as the sky was wide.  

Metronome time passes as the sun sets on another rain filled day. Four beats to a measure and still, he cannot play the piano with one hand.

Not while his other hand was holding yours at least.

You loved feeling the callouses on his hands. Tracing over the rough spots that gave way to smoother skin, the topography of his hands was like the mixed meter of the last song he sent you three weeks and four days ago. He took great care and pain to achieve perfection for everyone to perceive, but through his stern mask, you saw his youth and tenderness. The creases in his palms ran deeply as his love for you, as strong as the beat of a pasa doble as the sun set.

His hand intertwined with yours as the night settled and the stars sprawled themselves across the sky. Blinded by the city lights, you could only ever pick out the brightest stars for him to look at. He’d always laugh softly, commenting about how old the light you were looking at was. He’d remind you to live in the present and not in the dull sparkle of what was in the past. Times like those, you’d lay your head on his shoulder, reminding him that your present, your past and your future meant hearing the evenly timed beats of his heart against the constant chaos of the world outside on the daily.

He’d smile and kiss your temple, promising a world made of love songs and dreams.  

Three steps to a waltz. Your favorite dance no matter what the occasion was. A hundred steps later and once again, he’s at the beginning of a number.

Eight hundred and eighty-eight hours worth of songs compiled themselves into thirty-seven days worth of songs to play on repeat until the recording broke and so did your patience.

Lonliness was a cruel mistress to you. As many songs were sent, as many promises were exchanged, the waltz between love and hate manifested itself eventually. The summer storms felt colder than they ever had been when heated quarrels made it hard to be in the same space together.

“You don’t understand.”

_What is there to understand at all?_

“This is my life. This is how it is.”

“I know… I know… but it doesn’t stop me from feeling this way.”

“Please understand.”

“I will. I’ll try.”

_There’s nothing to understand._

There was nothing to comprehend about the two mismatched beats, scrambling to clutch onto the happiness that was built on trust and forgotten folk songs.

“It hurts.”

To perceive the pain as nothing more than a passing pulse would be a lie to the two of you. Determination and honesty persevered as his hand is back in yours, rubbing confident circles on the back of your palm, while you kissed at his brows until the worried lines melted. His soft smile and the barest traces of tears were all that remained of what animosity you had previously towards him.

Three steps to a waltz, two quick one slow. Matching the breathing of two people in love in one frantic life.

The bed you shared was an empty ballroom whenever he needed to leave in the middle of the night. Too often to count, you found yourself caressing slightly wrinkled sheets from where he once slept. The warmth he left just barely lingered longer than a rest in a measure of your life.

He’d leave notes scattered for you to pick up. One after another, evenly dosed to lull you back the shores of sleep and as you breathed in the scent of Ebony and orchids.

_I love you._

_I’m sorry._

_I have to go for a little bit._

_I’ll be back._

_Wait for me._

_Good night._

The sun would rise and he would press soft kisses on your sleep drenched eyelids to remind you that no matter how far he went, he’d always come back to you.

Three steps to a waltz and there is no partner left to dance with.

Two half beats in a note turns into a skip in the rhythm.

Two thousand three hundred and forty-nine songs made up a working year of missing Ignis. You counted two hundred and sixty-one pages worth of days where he was gone. Out of those long days, five hundred and twenty minutes went to missing him while he was at work. Twenty-eight thousand eight hundred seconds went to holding him as he slept. The last moments to see and feel each other never lasted longer than a combination of Monday and Friday’s playlists.

And then, he stopped recording.

As he marched off to the beating drum of duty, you did everything you could to match with half hearted tunes from an old, worn melodica.

Eighty seven thousand six hundred hours later, your fingers were calloused and the notes no longer played themselves as easily as they used to.

A forced tune is instead on repeat in your mind as time ticked mercilessly by.

Two half beats in a note towards the place where he would see you again.

_Do you miss me?_

Two half beats to the time of a sea made of stars where you first met.

“It’s been a long time, Ignis.”

“I know. I’m sorry I took so long to come home.”

“It’s okay. Welcome back. The sunrise is beautful today.”

And you’d kiss his eyelids until he could feel every second you thought of him over the last ten years.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross posted from my tumblr. If you want to be more up to date with my writing, find me there under the username ka-za-ri


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